Jan 2015
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right
in the supposedly post-racial united states of america
the only thing this society seems to be is post humanity.
black americans are routinely treated with barely a shred of human decency.
stripped of our agency under the iron fist of white supremacy
post the cold blooded murders of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Eric Garner, Kimane Gray, John Crawford, and countless others-
these are the strange fruits that hang from our nation’s poplar trees.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. or is it nineteen sixty four? many a time I have opened the morning paper to see headlines that would not be out of place in that era of bloodshed.
more care given to a cotton cloth flag than to the black bodies that lie battered and broken in the streets.
"think of the businesses!" they scream, mouths afroth.
but won't anyone think of the black children murdered for carrying BB Guns? won't anyone think of the fathers? the mothers? the sons and daughters whose lives are cut short by those who are supposed to 'protect and serve?'
I will stop "making this about race" when the police stop giving me reason to fear for my life simply for existing. it is not enough to be peaceful and innocent anymore.
does this conversation upset you? can you not cope with these atrocities that go on every day in your precious land of the free?
In a sick way it almost makes sense
that in a nation built from nothing upon the backs of the enslaved
that it would take a bit longer than a hundred and fifty years to stop feeling the pain.
the whips and chains that once bound us were not broken, but merely transformed.
our shackles are now student loans;
plantations were exchanged for privatized prisons and lynch mobs now wear blue uniforms.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
maybe it’s got something to do with the way that all people seem to care about nowadays is iggy azalea’s new hit single but not the way that white rappers want to be black so badly up until it’s time to fight for us. to march with us. to die with us.
miley cyrus can prance around onstage fetishizing black bodies like modern day hottentot venuses but when black bodies are being violated by the police she’s strangely silent.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
but there is a light that shines through this darkness. that light is within me, and you, and within the hearts of every single man and woman of all colors and creeds who raises their fists and says "No more."
our fight is not over. the road will be long. it is very possible that more will die along the way. but their deaths will not be in vain.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. but it will not be this way forever.
and and fourteen and something isn't right
in the supposedly post-racial united states of america
the only thing this society seems to be is post humanity.
black americans are routinely treated with barely a shred of human decency.
stripped of our agency under the iron fist of white supremacy
post the cold blooded murders of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Eric Garner, Kimane Gray, John Crawford, and countless others-
these are the strange fruits that hang from our nation’s poplar trees.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. or is it nineteen sixty four? many a time I have opened the morning paper to see headlines that would not be out of place in that era of bloodshed.
more care given to a cotton cloth flag than to the black bodies that lie battered and broken in the streets.
"think of the businesses!" they scream, mouths afroth.
but won't anyone think of the black children murdered for carrying BB Guns? won't anyone think of the fathers? the mothers? the sons and daughters whose lives are cut short by those who are supposed to 'protect and serve?'
I will stop "making this about race" when the police stop giving me reason to fear for my life simply for existing. it is not enough to be peaceful and innocent anymore.
does this conversation upset you? can you not cope with these atrocities that go on every day in your precious land of the free?
In a sick way it almost makes sense
that in a nation built from nothing upon the backs of the enslaved
that it would take a bit longer than a hundred and fifty years to stop feeling the pain.
the whips and chains that once bound us were not broken, but merely transformed.
our shackles are now student loans;
plantations were exchanged for privatized prisons and lynch mobs now wear blue uniforms.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
maybe it’s got something to do with the way that all people seem to care about nowadays is iggy azalea’s new hit single but not the way that white rappers want to be black so badly up until it’s time to fight for us. to march with us. to die with us.
miley cyrus can prance around onstage fetishizing black bodies like modern day hottentot venuses but when black bodies are being violated by the police she’s strangely silent.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
but there is a light that shines through this darkness. that light is within me, and you, and within the hearts of every single man and woman of all colors and creeds who raises their fists and says "No more."
our fight is not over. the road will be long. it is very possible that more will die along the way. but their deaths will not be in vain.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. but it will not be this way forever.
in the supposedly post-racial united states of america
the only thing this society seems to be is post humanity.
black americans are routinely treated with barely a shred of human decency.
stripped of our agency under the iron fist of white supremacy
post the cold blooded murders of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Eric Garner, Kimane Gray, John Crawford, and countless others-
these are the strange fruits that hang from our nation’s poplar trees.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. or is it nineteen sixty four? many a time I have opened the morning paper to see headlines that would not be out of place in that era of bloodshed.
more care given to a cotton cloth flag than to the black bodies that lie battered and broken in the streets.
"think of the businesses!" they scream, mouths afroth.
but won't anyone think of the black children murdered for carrying BB Guns? won't anyone think of the fathers? the mothers? the sons and daughters whose lives are cut short by those who are supposed to 'protect and serve?'
I will stop "making this about race" when the police stop giving me reason to fear for my life simply for existing. it is not enough to be peaceful and innocent anymore.
does this conversation upset you? can you not cope with these atrocities that go on every day in your precious land of the free?
In a sick way it almost makes sense
that in a nation built from nothing upon the backs of the enslaved
that it would take a bit longer than a hundred and fifty years to stop feeling the pain.
the whips and chains that once bound us were not broken, but merely transformed.
our shackles are now student loans;
plantations were exchanged for privatized prisons and lynch mobs now wear blue uniforms.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
maybe it’s got something to do with the way that all people seem to care about nowadays is iggy azalea’s new hit single but not the way that white rappers want to be black so badly up until it’s time to fight for us. to march with us. to die with us.
miley cyrus can prance around onstage fetishizing black bodies like modern day hottentot venuses but when black bodies are being violated by the police she’s strangely silent.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
but there is a light that shines through this darkness. that light is within me, and you, and within the hearts of every single man and woman of all colors and creeds who raises their fists and says "No more."
our fight is not over. the road will be long. it is very possible that more will die along the way. but their deaths will not be in vain.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. but it will not be this way forever.
and and fourteen and something isn't right
in the supposedly post-racial united states of america
the only thing this society seems to be is post humanity.
black americans are routinely treated with barely a shred of human decency.
stripped of our agency under the iron fist of white supremacy
post the cold blooded murders of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Eric Garner, Kimane Gray, John Crawford, and countless others-
these are the strange fruits that hang from our nation’s poplar trees.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. or is it nineteen sixty four? many a time I have opened the morning paper to see headlines that would not be out of place in that era of bloodshed.
more care given to a cotton cloth flag than to the black bodies that lie battered and broken in the streets.
"think of the businesses!" they scream, mouths afroth.
but won't anyone think of the black children murdered for carrying BB Guns? won't anyone think of the fathers? the mothers? the sons and daughters whose lives are cut short by those who are supposed to 'protect and serve?'
I will stop "making this about race" when the police stop giving me reason to fear for my life simply for existing. it is not enough to be peaceful and innocent anymore.
does this conversation upset you? can you not cope with these atrocities that go on every day in your precious land of the free?
In a sick way it almost makes sense
that in a nation built from nothing upon the backs of the enslaved
that it would take a bit longer than a hundred and fifty years to stop feeling the pain.
the whips and chains that once bound us were not broken, but merely transformed.
our shackles are now student loans;
plantations were exchanged for privatized prisons and lynch mobs now wear blue uniforms.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
maybe it’s got something to do with the way that all people seem to care about nowadays is iggy azalea’s new hit single but not the way that white rappers want to be black so badly up until it’s time to fight for us. to march with us. to die with us.
miley cyrus can prance around onstage fetishizing black bodies like modern day hottentot venuses but when black bodies are being violated by the police she’s strangely silent.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.
but there is a light that shines through this darkness. that light is within me, and you, and within the hearts of every single man and woman of all colors and creeds who raises their fists and says "No more."
our fight is not over. the road will be long. it is very possible that more will die along the way. but their deaths will not be in vain.
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. but it will not be this way forever.
